


Daffodils

by hippocrates460



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Homophobia, M/M, Snarry-A-Thon18
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-26 07:02:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14396787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hippocrates460/pseuds/hippocrates460
Summary: At 5 exactly, the doorbell rings, and he unlocks it from where he stands, then walks over to the front door. Potter is holding paper bags that steam and smell delicious. He starts babbling before he’s even crossed into the house. His hair is a mess, his cheeks are flushed, his eyes are bright.





	Daffodils

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much Lilian for your help and support and for being generally great.
> 
> Prompt 125) After the war, Harry comes to see Severus every Friday night. The reason behind his visits remains unspoken and Severus chooses not to pry. After roughly a year of the same routine, Harry reveals something about himself that changes the nature of their relationship irrevocably.

It’s almost 5 and it’s Friday so Severus makes his way to the kitchen. His hands touch the walls as he walks through the house, fighting the dizzy spell that threatens to take over by breathing slowly and deeply. He fills the kettle with water and sets it on the stove, which he turns on with magic. Right as the water boils, he pours it into a tea pot, adds the leaves, and prepares a tray with disgusting biscuits, tolerable biscuits, and two cups. He levitates the tray and it floats in front of him as he slowly makes his way back to the living room. After setting the tray down on the side table between his armchairs, he holds on to the back of the chair and takes a few deep breaths. Almost there. At 5 exactly, the doorbell rings, and he unlocks it from where he stands, then walks over to the front door. Potter is holding paper bags that steam and smell delicious. He starts babbling before he’s even crossed into the house. His hair is a mess, his cheeks are flushed, his eyes are bright. _By gods,_ Severus thinks, _the boy is gorgeous._

“I found this new Indian place, brought you a bunch of different things, not sure how you feel about spicy.” He toes off his shoes and Severus takes his coat to hang it. Harry walks through to the kitchen and Severus hears rustling as the bags are set down and put under a Keep Warm spell. By the time Severus has made it to his favourite armchair, Harry is done and clearly trying to stop himself from helping Severus sit. With a glare, he is reminded of the last time he tried to help Severus like that, and he startles and rushes to sit down in his chair. Over the past year, Severus has come to think of that chair as Harry’s chair. Not even Potter. Harry. It very nearly caused him to embarrass himself the last time Minerva visited.

They’re quiet for a long moment while Severus pours tea, hands Harry his cup and leans back. Harry is squirming and fidgeting and Severus takes deep calming breaths to not yell. Yelling makes him dizzy these days and having to wake up to Harry fussing over him as he recovers on the sofa was horrible enough the first three times.

“So,” Harry says, after Severus has stared him down for a long moment, “how are you?”

Severus leans back, he can feel the headache building. Another calming breath. “The same, Potter. And you?”

“Oh,” Harry says lamely, twirling the cup around. “Me too.”

“Why are you here?” Severus asks finally.

“I come here every Friday, Snape.” Harry looks at him in confusion.

“And you have so much fun,” Severus bites out.

“Well, sometimes I do.” Harry shrugs, it’s not elegant and makes the tea slosh in his cup. Severus can feel that Harry is about to launch into some long story, as he always does when he is uncomfortable, so he steels himself for humming and nodding at the right times. He’s not wrong. Harry finishes his tea, pulls a face as he gets some tea leaves in his mouth, then stands and starts pacing Severus’ tiny living room. It’s clean now, after being actually inhabited for a year, but Severus hasn’t had the time or the funds for much beyond cleaning. The furniture looks it, the years have not been kind. 

“So today I told Kingsley that I’m not joining the Aurors next year either,” Harry starts, then talks about wanting to go to university or find a master who will take him on. There’s something about avoiding recognition, wearing glamours or going abroad to study, but Severus doesn’t eat lunch on Fridays and soon his stomach starts growling. It stops Harry cold.

“Dinnertime,” he smiles broadly, drawing out the word, and bounds into the kitchen to set the small table. Severus gets up slowly, and carefully walks over to the kitchen. They eat together, Harry points out what the different dishes are and tells Severus about the owner of the restaurant who helped him choose what to bring. They talk about food and spices. As always, it’s way too much food for two people, and Harry packs up the leftovers afterwards, setting them in the ancient fridge that is hanging together with luck and magic. Severus stays seated and flicks his wand to set the dishes to do themselves, while Harry makes another tea tray. He gives Severus odd looks as he walks over to the living room.

“You know,” Harry says, as he plops down with an ‘oof’ in the chair that is not made for plopping down into, “it’s been a year.”

“It is June, Potter,” Severus bites out through clenched teeth. He will not yell. “It’s been a year for over a month.”

“No, I mean,” Harry sighs, “a year of Fridays.”

“Does that mean you’ll leave me alone now? Have you fulfilled your debt after a year of bothering me with Muggle take away?” Severus shifts in the chair as he says this, and the chair gives a warning creak. Every other day of the week, Severus likes the noises the old furniture makes, they’re as familiar as everything else around him. On Fridays he hates being reminded of the state of his life.

“I’m not here because I owe you, I’m here because I want less animosity between us,” Harry answers heatedly.

“Animosity? Is that a word you learned recently? Five syllables, oh my,” Severus drawls, injecting as much venom as he can into the words. To his surprise, Harry laughs.

“Learned it last year actually, Hermione was considering Harvard but they don’t accept N.E.W.T. scores at American university, you have to do a sort of entrance exam. One part of it is memorizing words.”

“If it’s not a debt,” Severus bites out, “and clearly it isn’t just for help with your homework since you’ve graduated now, are you here to acclimatize me to your inane babbling for some reason? Acclimate means...” He starts, and Harry interrupts.

“To grow accustomed to, I know. That’s also not it. You know this,” Harry answers, he’s starting to sound very annoyed.

“Then why,” Severus lowers his voice dangerously, “pray tell, are you here?” It has the same effect it’s always had. Harry shivers as if he’s made a terrible mistake in Potions class. As if he can feel the damp chill of the dungeons. He’s quiet for a long moment, then mumbles something that sounds like _guess we’re finally doing this._

“I will tell you,” he answers, looking up to meet Severus’ eyes. “But it’s a long story.”

“You will leave me with a cliff hanger tonight and resume next week?” Severus asks, his brow arched, and as if Harry is starting to appreciate sarcasm, he smiles.

“I could come back tomorrow, or leave at a boring part of the story?”

“It’s not as if I had plans,” Severus says sarcastically, but it’s true, and they both know it. Severus can’t leave the house for more than groceries, and he does those on Monday. It’s only the last few months that he can even walk to the store and back without needing breaks in between. Thinking of it makes Severus wish again that he’d been the one to wield the sword of Gryffindor. If that damn snake wasn’t long dead already he’d cut it up and use it for Potions ingredients. Not that he’s able to make any interesting Potions at this point. Standing for hours inhaling fumes made him dizzy before; now that standing at all makes him dizzy, he limits himself to simpler things.

“Did you read up on the reports of what happened at Hogwarts after you,” Harry pauses and squints a little, as he does when he’s trying not to get yelled at, “were bitten.”

Severus thinks for a moment what part of that sentence he most wants to respond to and settles on: “What else was I to do as I lay in bed for months? Besides, the Saviour of the Wizarding World has hardly been forthcoming with personal additions to what happened as I was bleeding out in that dusty hovel, despite blabbering about almost every other topic under the sun.”

Harry’s lack of response to the jab about being the saviour makes Severus reminisce about the times where he could set him off with the smallest insult. Nowadays, he gets ignored.

“Yes, well. I assume that means you know about how I went to King’s Cross and met Dumbledore there?”

“It was impossible to miss,” Severus answers, his tone cold. Harry still doesn’t get angry and Severus decides he’ll need to work on his throwing-Harry-off techniques. _It used to be so easy,_ he thinks.

“I never told anyone this, but I did get on a train. Well, Ron and Hermione know I got on the train, but not what happened after.”

Severus decides to try angry facial expressions instead of comments, and although his glower prompts Harry to explain this ridiculous statement, he doesn’t seem thrown off. Just weary and vaguely apologetic.

“Dumbledore told me I could take a train or I could go back. I decided to get on the train.”

“You had a near-death experience and your subconscious provided you with some imagery to help you process the experience.” Clinical detachment also doesn’t throw Harry off, but makes him think Severus is actually interested. Severus makes a mental note of this.

“Yes! That’s what Hermione thinks, too.” Harry smiles at him, and Severus decides to find out if pursuing this feigned interest will eventually throw Harry off.

“I decided to get on a train, and the Hogwarts Express pulled in. It drove for a bit and then when it stopped in Hogsmeade, I got out.”

“It is not unthinkable your subconscious would take you somewhere you felt comfortable in life.”

“Yeah,” Harry crinkles his nose in thought, “Hogwarts was my first real home.”

Severus decides to continue pretending to be interested, even if he’s getting a little antsy about where this story might be going. He nods instead of saying anything, silently praying Harry will get on with it.

“So, I walked from the train station to the castle, and it was dream-like, in the sense that it all went faster than it should, but it felt real.” Harry takes a moment to munch on a disgusting biscuit and Severus tries some breathing techniques to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

“Hogwarts was in one piece, not broken like it was after the battle,” Harry muses and Severus can’t take it anymore.

“Get on with it!” he barks. Harry blinks at him owlishly, then chuckles.

“I was wondering when you’d run out of patience.”

Severus is furious now, he was _played._ He decides on another technique.

“I’m merely interested in the rest of the story,” he drawls, trying to keep his tone saccharine and polite. It works, Harry leans back a little and his mouth falls open before he recovers.

“Alright. So I arrived at Hogwarts and I think I was in the 1950s or something, judging by how people were dressed.”

Severus decides to layer it on: “How fascinating!” 

This technique is wonderful, Harry looks stupefied. For a moment, he says nothing, but then he laughs. It’s bright and easy and Severus can’t help but think no one has ever laughed like that in his presence. Because of something he said. Because of a joke they shared, not at anyone’s expense. It’s honestly heart-warming.

“All right, I get the hint. But I am going to leave you with a cliff hanger now,” he smirks, it looks good on him.

“When I walked in through the gates, I saw two students were duelling by the lake, so I ran over,” Harry says, his tone normal.

“Ever the saviour,” Severus can’t help but say, but his tone is teasing and light, and Harry picks up on it.

“You know me,” he teases back. “They were tiny students, maybe second years, and a prefect was trying to stop them, so I helped her. She sent them off to the castle after we broke them up and thanked me. I know how Dumbledore works by now, so I figured I’d stay and talk to this girl for a bit, so we walked down to the lake as she interrogated me about my strange clothes.”

Harry must know him better than he thought, because as Severus is finally getting interested in hearing the story, Harry stands up. 

“I’ll be here after lunch, is 3 ok?”

They both know it is, but Severus makes a show of thinking. “Three o’clock would be acceptable,” he says finally and thinks maybe he should stand up to see Harry to the door. Before he can make a decision, Harry has placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Stay. I’ll see myself out.”

The warm contact makes Severus want to do horrible soft things like leaning into the touch or asking Harry to stay a while, I have good whiskey, but what comes out is a croaking noise.

“Don’t worry, I’ll close the door behind me,” Harry chuckles, and waves as he leaves. _Gods-he-is-beautiful._

Severus spends the rest of the evening staring at the book he was looking forward to reading and ends up going to bed way too early. He tells himself it’s because Harry’s nattering has worn him out. It definitely isn’t because Harry didn’t yell at all, or because he’s coming back tomorrow, or because his hand was _warm._

The next morning, Severus wakes up as the sun rises. It’s not even 5 am, but he sits up anyways and groans as he shuffles over to the shower. Mornings are when the pain and stiffness are the worst so everything takes infinitely longer than it should. An hour later he is finally ready to go downstairs and at 6:30 he is sitting in his kitchen with some toast, looking out at the postage-stamp size square behind his house. He sips his coffee slowly, savouring the last of the fancy blend Harry bought him for his birthday. He sets the dishes to go and tries to think of something to occupy his time with. Eight hours until Harry... no, he can’t think like that.

In the end, he decides his herbs need work, so he steps out of the kitchen. Summoning his tools to avoid having to pick them up, he starts with the herbs that are hanging in pots on the wall. He moves slowly to avoid getting sweaty, one shower is enough for the day thank you very much, and it takes hours before all the pots have been cleared of weeds and the tiles have been cleaned. Satisfied with his work, he has some of the Indian food for lunch and then lies down on his sofa. He tells himself he’ll sleep until half 2 to have enough energy to deal with Harry’s rambling, not at all so the time will pass faster. At 3 exactly he wakes up from the doorbell. He realizes quickly that he’ll never make it to the door before Harry gets worried and kicks it down, which is an actual thing that happened because Potters are _insane._ Severus flicks the door off the lock with his wand from the sofa and makes an effort to look as if he didn’t just wake up.

“Hey!” Harry shouts, proceeding to make a lot of noise as he takes off his coat and shoes.

Harry’s expression as he steps into the living room tells Severus he has failed at looking awake and unruffled, but Harry has the good sense to mutter something about tea and disappear into the kitchen. He is carrying an absurd number of bags which throws Severus off even more. By the time Harry stumbles into the living room with a tea tray, Severus is cranky. He is sore from the work in the garden, from waking up too early, and from sleeping on the sofa. Harry is here even though it isn’t Friday, and there were bags but it’s nowhere near dinnertime. He doesn’t want anyone to see him like this, let alone the one person whose mocking laugh rings in his ears day and night. Harry’s never laughed at him and Severus wants nothing more than to never give him reason to. _In through my nose, out through my mouth._

He wonders vaguely when Harry got so good at reading his moods, as Harry stays quiet, pours him tea and hands him the cup. It takes a good ten minutes for Severus to calm down, and they both focus on their tea for the duration. Finally, Harry sighs, sets down his cup of tea, leans back in his chair and smiles at Severus.

“I brought groceries, everything’s here to cook dinner together.” That solves the bag mystery at least.

“Why would you do that?”

“I’m imposing.” Harry shrugs, and Severus wonders briefly if Harry brings groceries when he goes to visit the Weasleys.

“You may have forgotten,” Severus says, his face still sour-looking despite his mood having improved a little, “but I did tell you it was acceptable for you to be here.”

Harry laughs, “You know how to make a guy feel welcome, don’t you.”

Severus wonders briefly if he should be nicer, if Harry would come on Saturdays more often if he were _kind,_ then pushes the thought away again. That’d never work, not even for someone as stupidly friendly as Harry. 

“I believe you were telling me a story. The girl asked you about your clothes.”

“That I was.” Harry smiles indulgently, as if Severus is simply a grumpy child. When did he stop being afraid of him? How can this awful situation be corrected?

With a deep breath, Harry curls his feet under himself, settling deeper into the armchair. Then he continues: “I was wearing jeans and a sweater, so you can imagine how someone at 1950s Hogwarts would feel about that, but this girl seemed interested.”

Harry leans his head back and stares at the ceiling. “She asked me if I was Muggle-raised, where I was from, why she’s never seen me before, and I answered all her questions honestly, because what harm could it do?”

Severus huffs, what harm could telling someone in the past about your life do indeed. Idiot boy.

“We talked for maybe half an hour before I decided I wanted to know what I was there for, so I started asking her questions. She was wearing a wedding ring so I started there, and she told me she got married to a Muggle she met after running away from home the summer before her last year. Her pure-blood parents were angry and told her not to come back until she realized the truth about Muggles. All she wanted was to finish school so she could come home to her husband.”

Severus gapes at Harry as he tells him this. Of course, Harry sodding Potter took an imaginary train to meet some spectrum of his 17-year-old mum. Why not?

“She told me her husband didn’t know that she was a witch, just that she would be able to finish school even if her parents disowned her, and he had encouraged her to go. She told me he was going to be a writer, that he wrote her poems and she couldn’t wait to see him over the Christmas holidays.”

Severus holds up his hand. He knows this story and he has no desire to hear it again. Harry stops talking and blinks at him.

“That’s why you visit me,” he croaks finally, fighting to keep calm, “some misplaced sense of responsibility because you spent a few hours with my mum.”

He breathes in and out and can’t keep his voice down as he adds: “In your head!”

Harry simply stares at his hands. “Just because it was in my head doesn’t mean it’s not real.”

Severus chokes. Sodding Dumbledore meddlesome barmy COOT.

Harry seems to have at some point gained a modicum of self-preservation and leaves through the door to the kitchen. There’s loads of banging noises and the telltale creaking of the cupboards. The familiar sounds of the house give Severus something to focus on as he tries to calm his heart rate. Harry is opening the fridge – closing it – a pan on the stove – picking up a bowl – now a spatula – and a cutting board. Chopping noises, something on the stove. The oven turning on. Dishes.

Harry steps back into the living room carrying two mugs. He hands Severus one, then sits back down in his chair.

“I know it’s summer, but I know how chocolate helps me, so I made some hot chocolate. And the roast is in the oven.”

“Why are you telling me all of this?” Severus finally manages, hoping Harry knows he’s not talking about the food.

“It seemed dishonest not to.” Harry shrugs, but he doesn’t seem sure.

Severus mumbles something about Gryffindors but sips his hot chocolate. It’s perfect, dark and rich and smooth. Just a hint of cinnamon. In a flash of sudden understanding, he knows with absolute certainty that if he were to brew Amortentia right now, it would hold the citrus and pine smell of spending a day outside with Lily, the freshly ground coffee smell of his mum on a good day, and this scent of hot chocolate with a pinch of cinnamon. It’s embarrassing. 

Potter, the absolute menace, launches back into his story. “I sat at the lakeside with Eileen until it was time for her to go to dinner, and we talked the whole time about her, about Tobias, her family, her wishes for the future. I expected her to say something that suggested we weren’t actually in the past, that she was aware of who I was, but she didn’t. When she left, I was back at King’s Cross.”

Severus pretends not to be interested but is hanging on to every word. Did Harry actually travel back in time? Did his mum carry this memory her whole life? Did Harry vividly hallucinate about Eileen Snape while the Dark Lord celebrated over his limp body? Severus snarls, more because he is angry at himself than because of Potter.

“At King’s Cross, Dumbledore was there again. I asked him why I saw your mum, and he told me everyone else was still trapped in the land of the living by the Resurrection Stone. That I could stay and visit more people by train, that eventually more people would come and I could visit them. I asked him why you hadn’t been there, he just did that eye twinkle thing at me, but I figured it meant you weren’t dead. That’s why I sent the house-elves for you.”

Severus takes a moment to digest all this, while finishing the last of his hot chocolate. He wonders if the brat has snuck him a calming draught in his hot chocolate but remembers on time that he isn’t smart enough. It must be just the chocolate helping. 

“So why do you come here?”

Harry thinks for a moment, picking at his sweater. It’s a hideous bright red with a Snitch on it. “I suppose I realized people aren’t what they seem, that things don’t work out the way you want them to. Some things are unpredictable, it’s unfair to blame people for making choices when they didn’t have all the information. I wanted to get to know who you are, outside of all of the subterfuge and shouting about my dad.”

“Potter,” Severus says sternly, “we’ve shouted about your dad at least five times since you started coming here on Fridays.”

Harry grins at him, his face open and trusting. “We have, haven’t we?”

“In some sense it was, of course,” Severus makes a hand gesture while waiting for the word to come and notices that Harry is staring at his hands intently, “cathartic.”

Harry laughs softly, “Maybe so.”

A ‘ding’ alerts them both to the roast, which has started to fill the house with delicious smells of rosemary and sage. Harry gets up quickly and makes some banging noises (oven, drawer, oven) before coming back to the living room. He folds himself down into the chair again.

“Half an hour on the other side now.”

“Shouldn’t we get started on the Yorkshire pudding and veggies then?” Severus braces himself on the arm of the sofa and tries to get up as smoothly as he used to.

“I’ve prepped it all,” Harry tells him, so he sinks back down into the sofa. “The veggies are in there and we’ll just finish them off with the puds while the meat rests.”

Severus nods. The boy can cook. “Where did you learn to make a proper roast?” he finds himself asking.

Harry laughs self-deprecatingly. “During my tenure as house-elf to the Dursleys.”

Severus nods again. He should’ve known Petunia couldn’t be trusted with children. He closes his eyes and leans his head back to rest on the sofa for a moment as he wonders, not for the first time, if Harry grew up hearing stories about dirty boys that lived in the wrong part of town. He feels tired all the way to his bones; despite the steady increase in his overall wellbeing and ability to move around, he is still weak and so easily exhausted.

“I’m surprised no one ever took one good look at you and the other boy and set child services on Petunia. I think her entire existence counts as cruelty to persons under sixteen.”

Harry chuckles. “Yeah, Dudley’s not doing great, either. To think I used to envy him.”

Severus nods sagely, or as much as he can while leaning back with his eyes closed. “Children never know what’s good for them.”

Harry actually laughs now. “You’d know.” 

Severus jerks up and tries to set fire to Harry with his glower, but Harry rolls his eyes. “Oh come off of it! I meant as a teacher, Snape, not in reference to things you did as a child.”

Severus settles back down after a last suspicious look.

“So, how old were you?” Harry asks, and Severus covers his face with his hands, groaning. “Never mind, you don’t have to answer that.”

“I need a fucking drink.”

Harry summons wine and glasses and before Severus knows it he’s holding a glass of very fancy elf-made wine. He looks from the glass to Harry in surprise.

“A present,” Harry shrugs. “Don’t worry, everything I get is checked for poison and tampering. I figured it’d go well with the roast.”

Severus knows not to trust other people’s paranoia, but cheerfully takes a swig as he remembers he won’t have to have this conversation if he’s dead.

“I thought you knew, from the Pensieve,” he admits, when he has finished one glass and made Harry pour him another. He can feel the wine doing its job already.

“Ah, no, I got out before any of that,” Harry looks, to his credit, sincerely ashamed. “I only saw the thing with my dad and Sirius.”

‘The thing’, what a euphemism. Severus can feel the corner of his mouth starting to curl but decides to milk the opportunity. “Only?”

“Merlin, I didn’t mean it like that, it was awful and cruel and so so wrong,” Harry stammers, “but I’m sure there was plenty in there that I didn’t see.”

More milking. “You’re sure?”

“Well,” Harry’s cheeks are a blotchy red now; it doesn’t look half bad on him, “I assume you put some of the Death Eater stuff in there too, that you wouldn’t want me to see that.”

“Death Eater stuff?” Severus is having a very good time. He should be making Harry ashamed, he decides, and fishes around in his memory for other things he could use to keep this going. Throwing-Harry-off is a skill to be honed.

Harry groans; it’s his turn to bury his face in his hands. “Gods, I am so sorry.”

Severus decides to enjoy the view, which really is delectable. Harry is sitting on his armchair, legs pulled up, twisted to the side, hiding his face in his hands. From his vantage point, Severus can just see where Harry’s sweater rides up at his back; the sliver of skin it exposes is somehow deeply erotic.

“What are you sorry for?” he asks sweetly. He expects more groaning, or perhaps anger, but what he gets is honest remorse written all over Harry’s face. He schools his features into the familiar mask to hide his surprise.

“For violating your privacy, for not believing you, for believing everything Dumbledore said without ever questioning it, except for you, for the shouting and the harsh words and the awful things I’ve said.”

“I was a teacher for fifteen years, Potter, I am well aware what the students called me behind my back.”

“But I’m sorry I did!” Harry looks exasperated and flushed and so so beautiful.

The oven goes ‘ding’.

Harry jumps up and half-runs into the kitchen, leaving Severus to haul himself up and make his way over at a more sedate pace.

Harry has the roast out of the oven and resting and is popping in the Yorkshire pudding by the time Severus sits down at the kitchen table. The wine and glasses come floating into the kitchen and set themselves down on the table, and Harry takes his seat across from Severus.

“I took a train the other day,” Harry says to his glass.

“Speaking of Death Eaters,” Severus mumbles. Harry grins at him.

“I took a normal Muggle train because I was going insane at Grimmauld place by myself, and I wanted to be surrounded by people but not stared at. I have no idea what I’m going to do now I have my N.E.W.T.s and everyone keeps telling me what they think I should do, so I’ve been avoiding people a little.”

Severus decides to wait out where this nonsequitur is going, so he just nods when Harry looks at him.

“Anyway, I was on this train and I saw a couple feeding their baby across from me. They would hold up the spoon and the baby would take the bite. But then the train wobbled, and the spoon wobbled, and the baby had to move his head to follow it. Which confused him, but it made his parents laugh. And then he laughed too, and when the train wobbled again, he laughed before his parents did.”

Severus would die before admitting he’s actually curious where Harry is going with this, so he does his best to look vaguely bored and impatient. It works.

“Anyway, I’ve been thinking about nature and nurture and learned behaviour a lot,” Harry wraps up quickly.

 _That’s interesting,_ Severus thinks. “The brat can think,” he says, letting his voice convey both sarcasm and the smallest hint of pleased incredulity.

“Hush,” Harry laughs at him. “It just makes me wonder what things the Dursleys taught me that I’m not aware of that I have internalized.”

“Your inherent worth, or lack thereof.” Severus takes a sip of wine. Harry stares at him, his mouth hanging open a little. It doesn’t look nearly as stupid or unattractive as it should.

Thankfully, the oven indicates the food is ready. Harry mumbles something about being saved by a bell. He gets up and sets the table before serving the food. It’s delicious, the wine goes well with it, the meat is perfect. Unsure what to do about this new development, Severus eats quietly. When he finishes everything Harry gave him, he gets seconds. Harry stares. Severus raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t think I’ve ever brought you anything that made you come back for seconds.”

“Maybe you should cook instead,” Severus says, before realizing this could be interpreted as an invite. He stopped trying to kick Harry out or convince him not to come back ages ago, but this is a bit much.

“If you insist on coming here, that is,” he adds, but he can tell from the amused expression on Harry’s face that he’s been caught. It doesn’t bother him much, for some reason, so he allows the corner of his mouth to curl a little.

They finish eating and Harry does the clean-up while Severus walks over to his armchair. He sits down a little heavily and decides that tonight is a night for cognac, so he summons his bottle and some heavy glasses. Harry sits down in his chair and accepts the glass he is handed. He sniffs it cautiously.

“If you don’t like it, don’t drink it. I will not waste good alcohol on one who cannot appreciate it,” Severus snipes.

Harry takes a tentative sip, seems to think for a moment, then relaxes back into his seat.

They’re quiet for a moment before Harry takes another sip, looks at Severus and says: “You’re so educated.” He immediately looks appalled, as if the words fell out of his mouth without his permission. It’s genuinely funny and Severus has to hide his smile by looking away.

“What do you mean?” he says when he has his reaction under control.

“Just...” Harry gestures wildly around him, his cheeks flushed, “you’re well-read and you like classical music and fancy alcohol and...”

“And I grew up _here_?” Severus’ tone is ice-cold as he realizes what Harry might be implying.

“Well yes,” Harry sighs, “but I mean it as a compliment.”

“Alright,” Severus says, surprising himself by being so easily placated. The cold feeling of fear leaves his stomach as fast as it came, which is new.

“How?” Harry hides his face again, but it seems to have taken all his bravery to ask. As if he really wants to know. Severus decides to test him.

“My mother was the only child of the Prince line, they may not have been sacred twenty-eight, but they were definitely wealthy and pureblood. _Here_ isn’t all of what I grew up with.”

“Did you ever have the local accent?” Harry looks interested.

“I still do, you should hear me when I talk to my neighbours and the local shop-keepers,” Severus smirks at Harry’s astonishment.

“What makes you hide it?” 

Severus snorts, “Death Eater stuff.”

“Oh,” Harry says, “yeah, I guess they would expect you to behave upper class.”

They’re both quiet for a moment, but Harry seems to struggle with something.

“Out with it.”

“I was wondering if that’s where you learned to eat pretty.” Harry blushes deeply.

“You think I eat pretty?” Severus asks.

“Yes! Or maybe pretty isn’t the word, elegant might be better, or _cultivated._ ”

“Did Miss Granger teach you that word?” This time Severus doesn’t even try to hide his teasing tone.

Harry beams at him. “No, I read books.” His tone is smug and it’s rather fetching.

“Is that what this is about? You wanting to become cultured?”

Harry frowns over his glass. “Don’t think I don’t realize you’re not answering my questions. And yes, I noticed that even Ron knows more about table manners than I do at one of the Ministry events we went to last year, and I’ve been trying to learn since.”

Severus thinks for a moment, then flicks his wand around, causing three books from around the room to fly over. “I expect them back in immaculate condition.”

He’s not used to offering help so readily, to not asking for something in return, but that’s not how Harry does things, and wouldn’t it be nice. To offer so freely, to give so easily. To expect nothing in return but friendship and kindness, and to receive it. 

Harry nods, petting the cover of one of the books reverently, before setting the stack down on the table. “Now, I won’t ask you again how old you were, but will you tell me who taught you table manners?”

“Seventeen, the summer before my seventh year. My mum taught me the basics, Lucius taught me the rest when I was in second year. Slytherins have standards, he used to say.”

Harry leans back, staring at the ceiling, then holds out his glass for Severus to refill. Severus does, topping up his own glass too, he wonders if he’s made a mistake by sharing this much.

“Will you tell me now why you told me about your reflection on learned behaviour?” Severus tries not to sound as if he’s ill at ease, even though he really is. Twenty years and he has not forgiven himself for his worst mistakes. Harry seems grateful for the change in topic, and sits up straight, though he still won’t look at Severus. It stings a little more than it should and as Severus thinks that, he decides never to think about it again.

“Well, we were talking about your mum, and then about how I used to see you,” Harry explains, “both of those things relate to learned behaviour.”

“In what sense?”

“The conversation I had with Eileen made me wonder how a woman like that, happy and intrigued by everything Muggle, in love with someone who sounded wonderful, could become the woman I saw in your memory.”

“The woman you saw what?” His voice shakes a little on the ‘what’.

“One time during Occlumency lessons I saw your dad shouting at your mum,” Harry tells his hands, clearly expecting another outburst. His eyes are doing the squinty thing.

“Did you now?” Severus’ voice is menacing.

“Look, Snape, I didn’t mean to push into your mind, it was years ago, and I never told anyone, now is not the time to get angry about it.” Harry looks decisive and fierce as he tells Severus this. He’s still squinting, but it’s an impassioned sort of squint.

Severus takes a few deep breaths; he really needs to not shout. Between the day he’s had and the alcohol, he’d surely faint. Harry seems to notice there will not be an explosion and continues.

“I’ve been thinking about what could happen for the Eileen I met to raise a child that became a Death Eater. That’s all.” He waits for his words to sink in before continuing.

“I was raised by people who thought everyone that didn’t look like a fashion model was ugly, except for their immediate family, that thought the Sexual Offenses Act should have never been amended, and that poor people were somehow morally corrupt.”

Severus can’t help himself, he actually laughs. He blames it on the irony, the alcohol, the look on Harry’s face, but he laughs. Harry looks at him as if he’s just solved world hunger, eyes filled with wonder. His face opens into a bright grin. It’s such a change from how Severus is normally looked at that it lifts his spirits even more.

“I won’t pretend to know what’s funny about that, but you should laugh like that more,” Harry says, clearly happy with himself for being apparently hilarious.

Severus calms down when he realizes he’s exposing his teeth but can’t help chuckling. He shakes his head a little to make his hair fall over his face.

“Are you going to explain?” Harry asks, clearly still amused and not at all worried that he’s being made fun of. 

“Petunia hates me more than she’ll ever know,” Severus explains, “that’s hilarious. The three things you just named, all apply to me.”

Harry chuckles, then as Severus’ words sink in properly he whips his head around. “Wait.” 

Severus arches an eyebrow. 

“She knows what you look like and how you grew up,” Harry says slowly.

“Your point being?” Severus drawls.

“You’re _gay_?”

Severus is more amused than offended. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“No,” Harry stammers, “I just didn’t...” He fidgets. “I didn’t know.”

“Why would I have told you?”

“No, I mean, I’m just surprised,” Harry picks at a loose thread on his sweater, staring at it with some urgency.

“Did you believe I was in love with your mother?”

“Well, a little. Maybe. Were you?”

“No, Potter, Lily was my friend.”

“Ok. Yeah, that makes sense, I guess.” Harry looks deeply uncomfortable.

“All the talk of Death Eaters, and this is what you get stuck on?” Severus is still not actually offended but now very surprised. 

The loose thread is starting to unravel, so Severus points his wand at it. Harry looks on in awe as the sweater fixes itself.

“What spell is that?” he gasps. Severus chuckles again; the boy is clearly overwhelmed.

“Reparo, Harry.”

“Oh.” Harry picks at his nails instead. “You called me Harry.”

“Would you rather I didn’t?” He hides his disappointment effectively but feels it nonetheless.

“No, I don’t mind at all;” Harry says, “can I call you Severus?”

“We’ve established today that you’re on first name basis with my dead mother and you know more about me than even Albus ever did. We’re also well on our way to getting drunk. It seems appropriate.”

“Thank you.” Harry beams at him.

Severus pours both of them another glass; the cognac bottle is starting to feel lighter than it should. They drink in silence, and Severus notices the room is growing darker. He points his wand at the fireplace and it roars into action. 

“You, um,” Harry starts, eloquent as ever, “you don’t make me uncomfortable.”

“I don’t need your assent.”

“You’re right, you don’t. I’m correcting an assumption you made.”

“Because?”

Harry looks at him; the light reflecting on his glasses makes his expression hard to read. “That is an interesting question. Do you have things for pudding?”

Severus shakes his head. “But feel free to check if you can throw something together with what I do have.”

Harry bounces into the kitchen. Again, he makes an absurd amount of noise, but Severus is grateful for the space to gather his thoughts. Potter, no _Harry,_ talked to his mum or some projection of his mum while dead, rescued him by setting the house-elves on him, and has been coming to Spinner’s End straight after classes every Friday without fail. Tonight, for the first time, they have talked about things that matter, and Harry seems comfortable at his house, with him. It’s been an odd journey to this point but it’s strangely fitting that they, of all people, should come to understand each other. He feels an odd tugging in his stomach and realizes he doesn’t want Harry to leave. He’s enjoying himself.

There is an extra loud bang in the kitchen and a shouted, “Sorry!” Severus sinks further back into his chair; he trusts Harry with his stuff. The thought makes him pull a face, and he conjures a glass of water for himself. Better make sure he’s not drunk enough to get sappy, that never ends well.

The glass of water reminds him he’s had half a bottle of wine and almost as much cognac, so he gets up to use the bathroom. Not for the first time, he curses whoever built houses with only one bathroom. The stairs are torture for his sore muscles, and when he gets back down, Harry is sitting curled up in his chair reading one of the books on etiquette.

“Crumble should be done soon.” He smiles at Severus as they make eye contact from across the room.

“I had apple?”

“A couple, but I added the frozen berries, too, so there’s plenty.”

Severus nods, then lowers himself into his chair again.

“You’re walking much better these days,” Harry comments. “Will you go back to work after summer?”

For the first time, Severus doesn’t even consider yelling at him for sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. He answers honestly instead. “I haven’t spoken to Minerva about it yet, but I suspect full course load might be too much for me still. If I do, I will need to somehow acquire an assistant.”

Harry thinks for a moment, shuffles in his seat, sets the book down, shuffles again.

“Out. With. It.” Severus sighs.

Harry mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like it might contain words like ‘help’ and ‘Potions’ and ‘teach’. He runs his hands through his hair.

“You know I need you to speak up, boy.”

“I want to help. I can help teach Potions.”

Severus takes a few tries to start talking again, but finally manages. “Now why would you offer that?”

“Because I’ve asked around what I need to do to get accepted for a Mastery, and I have the grades but I’ve never created or improved a potion. I’ve also never published. I can be your assistant, and in return I could stay at Hogwarts and have a lab there.”

“You have a lab, at Grimmauld place.”

“Would you want to live at Grimmauld place?” Harry asks, his tone sharp.

Severus spreads his hands and Harry remembers where he is.

“Yeah, well,” he runs his hands through his hair again. “If I get a choice I won’t pick somewhere half the furniture has tried to bite me.”

He gets up and walks to the kitchen, then comes back with two bowls of steaming crumble.

“Thank you,” Severus says, as he accepts a bowl. Harry is flabbergasted, and Severus chuckles. Throwing Harry off with politeness.

They eat in silence.

“Are you sure you want a Potions Mastery?” Severus asks, setting his bowl down.

“Yes. I’m not sure if I never want to be an Auror, and I’m not sure I’ll never want a Mastery in Defence, but I like Potions.”

“And who would have thought that could happen?” Severus drawls.

“Well, between Slughorn praising everything I do and your help, both in sixth year and last year, I got confident, and then rather good. Things are always more fun when you’re good at them.”

“If you are considering the Mastery, I assume you got O’s in both Defence and Potions; how did you do in your other courses?”

“I didn’t know you’d care,” Harry teases.

“If I am to work with you, I care.”

“O in Herbology and Charms, EE in everything else. Oh, and an EE for the Runes O.W.L. I took.”

“You took an extra O.W.L.?”

“Hermione made me, but it honestly wasn’t that hard. Only two years of material and with all the reading I did on them in that damn tent, I didn’t need to revise much.”

Severus is quiet for a moment, then nods. “Tell me you still want it when you’ve sobered up and I’ll make the necessary arrangements.”

“Really?” Harry squeaks. At the look on Severus face, he smiles broadly. Severus pours both of them another glass of cognac and holds his own up.

“To collaboration, I suppose,” he sighs. _I might regret this in the morning,_ he thinks, _but at least I’ll be able to get back to work._

Harry laughs and toasts with him. _Or maybe it’ll be wonderful._

“As my assistant you will be expected to take up residence in the guestroom in my quarters. You will need all your persuasive powers to sway the headmistress if you’d rather not.”

“Oh, Severus, stop.” Harry looks irritated. “I wasn’t lying when I said you don’t make me uncomfortable.”

“No?” Severus tries to read the expression on Harry’s face, which makes him look away. “Do you want to tell me what all that was about, then?”

Harry drains the rest of his glass in one go, then coughs for a good few minutes. When he has caught his breath, his face is red and he is fidgeting again, and Severus is highly amused. There is only one thing that could make someone this agitated. He leans back, patiently waiting for the admission.

Harry takes a deep breath. Here it comes. “I’m gay.”

“There, was that so hard?” Severus smiles at him, it feels odd on his face and he hopes it doesn’t look predator-like.

“You knew?” Harry splutters.

“After that display?”

Harry doesn’t look as though he believes him. “I didn’t use Legilimency, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“No, I would’ve felt that.” Harry shrugs. “You’ve probably been through this dozens of times with students, I can’t believe I was so stressed.”

“It’s natural to be worried. Did you think I would respond poorly?” Severus keeps his tone mild and friendly, which seems to work.

“Not even, actually. I really don’t know why that was so hard.”

Something tickles at Severus’ mind. “Was that the first time you’ve said it out loud?”

Harry nods, his cheeks still flushed. Severus pats his arm awkwardly, then decides to offer comfort the way he knows best and pours another drink for both of them. Shame he can’t do this to students when they come out to him, it would make his life much easier.

“What are we toasting to?” Harry asks.

“You decide, it’s your truth.”

Harry thinks for a moment, biting his lower lip. Severus feels a quick flash of _I want to bite your lip,_ then squashes it away.

“To mutual understanding,” Harry decides, and they tap their glasses together.

“Can I ask you something?” Harry asks sometime later.

Severus waves his hand at him as permission. It’s not as if he could stop the boy.

“Why are you still so mean?” he blurts out. Severus smirks at him, and the boy keeps digging himself into the hole: “I mean, I understand having to be rude to everyone when you were a spy, but your attitude hasn’t really changed since.” He’s blushing prettily now, clearly aware that what he’s saying is going too far.

“Potter,” Severus drawls and he sits up a little straighter. “Don’t tell me you honestly thought that after the war was over I’d be having tea with everyone that continuously wished me severe bodily harm over the last two decades? Or did you think I would be making friendship bracelets for the Golden Trio as soon as I got out of hospital?”

Harry blinks at him owlishly, then bursts out laughing. It doesn’t sound mocking but Severus is not sure what to make of it so he just scowls. Eventually he can’t take it anymore and snaps: “If you’re quite done making fun of me?”

Harry immediately stops laughing; he looks worried now. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t laughing at you, I promise. It’s just funny to hear you refer to something so Muggle as friendship bracelets.”

Severus tilts his head. “Only Muggles have friendship bracelets?”

He must be drunk because he cannot think of what in that sentence could cause Harry’s face to cloud up like that.

“Oh Snape,” he says, “that is....” He shakes his head, “I’m too drunk for this, I’m going to cry.”

For a moment, Severus is delighted, then he sees how sad Harry looks, how worried.

“Oh surely you realize what you just said,” Harry starts, but Severus really doesn’t. “If you don’t know that friendship bracelets are purely Muggle,” he starts, “and I’m sure you didn’t have Muggle friends while spying for Voldemort...”

It finally clicks. He just told Potter he hasn’t had a single friend since Lily. Isn’t that something. He groans and lets his head fall back.

“So sad,” the boy whispers, and when Severus looks at him, the green eyes are brimming with tears. 

“Jesus Christ,” he swears, and he can feel his accent coming, feels the need to spit on the floor, to use Muggle insults. “I do not need your _pity,_ ” he hisses instead.

Harry nods and pulls up his legs, wrapping his arms around them. They’re both very quiet. Even though it’s not even midnight, Severus has been up since dawn and he can feel that if he doesn’t go upstairs soon, the stairs will be too much. Some mistakes you really only make once and crawling up the stairs in exhaustion with an oozing wound from a snake bite is one of them. Harry looks at him as he drains his glass and floats it to the kitchen, then follows his example.

“The kitchen is clean,” Harry croaks awkwardly.

“Don’t try to help me up,” Severus answers, and it seems to break the spell of the heavy atmosphere.

“I wouldn’t dare,” Harry smiles at him, “I remember the last time I did that.”

“Good.”

They’re both quiet for a moment.

“Come out to dinner with me, tomorrow.”

“Why?” Three nights in a row is a lot and they’ve avoided shouting at each other in public so far.

“Show the world we’re friends, that you’re alright, try that fresh pasta I’ve been telling you about.” Severus tries to see if Harry is doing this because he feels sorry for him, but Harry mostly looks to be bracing himself for rejection. 

“I’m afraid I will most probably be paying for my indulgence tomorrow,” Severus admits, finding himself actually regretting it. “Perhaps some other time?”

“Next Friday? I’ll pick you up.” The brat looks relieved that his invitation has been accepted.

“Acceptable.”

Harry grins. “It’s a date.”

Words seem to have again escaped his mouth without his permission. He claps his hands over his face and stares at Severus wide-eyed. Severus can’t help but chuckle.

“If you hold any doors open for me I will hex you.”

It breaks the tension, and Harry laughs. This time, Severus does get up to see Harry out. They walk to the door together, and Severus stands in the opening as Harry walks past. The brief touch to his arm and the whispered ‘I had a very good time tonight, thank you’ echo around him as he walks upstairs, gets ready for bed, and lies awake for hours. As he sobers up he realizes that he should do himself the kindness of not lying. Not to himself. He likes the brat, enjoys his company, finds him attractive. He’s terrified of somehow ruining this too, worried Harry will think of him poorly, scared this trust they’ve built between them will somehow end. He can’t imagine worse pain than Harry mocking him, rejecting him, humiliating him. It’s not the conclusion he thought he’d come to, but if he is going to be working with Harry, he should be aware of his own feelings. Nothing will ever come of it, of course, but Harry did call him a friend earlier, and Severus is determined to have that as long as he can.

When he wakes up, everything hurts, his stomach is growling, and it is very late. He sits up a little too fast and has to fight the dizzy spell before being able to get all the way out of bed. 

_‘I wonder if Harry’s up already,’_ he thinks before he can stop himself. Perhaps admitting things to himself wasn’t the grand idea he thought it was. Standing in the corridor in his tatty nightgown he debates going down for breakfast before showering. Knowing that he’ll never make it back up if he does, he summons an apple instead.

 _‘Should I have given him a hangover potion?’_ he muses as he drinks his own. _‘Maybe he’s young enough not to get hangovers.’_ In the bathroom he sits on the edge of the tub to eat his apple while the tub fills. _‘Did he even drink as much as I did?’_

Standing in the hot shower when he hasn’t eaten for too long is an awful idea. He tosses out the apple core, takes off his nightgown and slowly sinks into the bathtub. The hot water relaxes his muscles and he lies back for a moment, enjoying the heat. _‘He drank plenty, but that doesn’t mean he was as inebriated as I was,’_ Severus thinks, when he remembers how he laughed in front of the brat. Taking care not to make abrupt movements, he washes his hair, scrubs his body, clips his nails. 

The lavender soap and rosemary shampoo help, and by the time the tub is drained and he has rinsed himself off using the showerhead, he feels a little better. _‘I should make soap today, I’m running low,’_ he muses, as he sets the bar on the side of the tub. _‘Maybe I can make Harry some soap too,’_ he thinks, which leads to some very dangerous thoughts like, _‘I wonder what his favourite smells are’ and, ‘What would Amortentia smell like to him?’_

Getting out of the tub is hard as ever, and as he shuffles downstairs wrapped in only his old bathrobe, his hair still wet, his stomach starts cramping painfully. The clock on the mantel tells him it’s noon. His owl, Nyctimene, sleeping in her corner of the kitchen reminds him that, if Harry doesn’t change his mind, they’ll be working together next year. _‘Plenty of opportunity to bring up Amortentia,’_ Severus thinks. And isn’t that a happy thought.

He makes himself a plate of the last Indian food, eats it quickly while sitting at the kitchen table, and sets the dishes to wash. He’s out of bread, so he makes some dough and sets it to the side to rise. He briefly considers going upstairs to get dressed, but decides against braving the stairs, and checks if he has everything he needs. He sets out his things on the workbench, puts on his dragonhide gloves, and starts. Halfway through, he pauses to knead the dough, then puts it away to rise again. When he’s ready to pour the soap into the mould, his doorbell rings. Since his wards didn’t alert him, he just swishes his wand so the door will click open and continues his work. 

“Don’t you check who’s at your door?” he hears Harry yell. The tugging at his stomach happily notes _Harry_ is _here._

“I trust my wards, Potter,” he yells back.

“It smells amazing here,” Harry says as he steps into the living room.

“I’ll be done soon,” Severus replies. “Why are you here? I thought I told you I won’t be up for going out today.”

“You did,” Harry says, a little too nonchalant, “but I figured I could come tell you in person that I haven’t forgotten or changed my mind about next year.”

“Marvellous,” Severus drawls, setting the mould to the side to allow the soap to harden. He glances over his shoulder where Harry is fixing tea. Harry looks nervous, so Severus turns back to start cleaning the workstation. In his head he counts down to Harry’s prattling. He’s correct to the second, reaching one as Harry takes a deep breath, and zero as Harry starts talking.

“I like your kitchen a lot,” he says, and Severus rolls his eyes. “It’s larger than you’d expect, and really bright. I love the fresh herbs and the ones that are hanging to dry, and it’s so nice that there’s space for a worktable so you can make potions.”

Severus tries to tune him out as he finishes putting away his last things and pops his bread into the oven, but when Harry starts about the garden, he decides it’s enough. “Potter.”

“Right. Sorry,” Harry says, and he turns around. He’s blushing, and Severus remembers he’s naked under his bathrobe.

“Let me get dressed,” he says, starting towards the door.

“Oh,” Harry blushes deeper, “you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Severus stares at him. “Don’t touch my soap, it needs to harden. When the oven timer goes off, please take the bread out to cool.”

“I mean you’re perfectly decent like this,” Harry stammers.

“I won’t enjoy my tea if you’re distracted by my ankles, Potter,” Severus drawls. 

Harry pulls up his shoulders, staring at the wall. “Sorry.”

Severus goes upstairs, decides he can’t be bothered with robes today, and dresses in socks, trousers, a collared shirt, and a light jumper. When he steps off the stairs, Harry is staring at him again.

“What now?” Severus asks, irritated, as he looks himself over and feels if his hair has dried wrong.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says again, looking miserable. “I don’t think I’ve seen you in Muggle clothes before.”

“Is that so?” Severus asks, and he can’t help smiling. The work on the soap has cleared his head and he feels quite good now. The house smells like fresh bread, and the sun is out. Harry on the other hand, looks awful. Severus sits down in his armchair, and unthinkingly touches the back of his hand to Harry’s head to feel his temperature. He only realizes what he’s doing when Harry flinches, and he pulls his hand back immediately.

“My apologies, I shouldn’t have done that.” The rejection stings, and Severus can feel his cheeks heating. He shakes out his hair to hide it.

“No, it’s alright, I just didn’t expect it.”

“Do you need something? Is it the hangover?” Severus asks, pouring them both tea.

“No, it’s not that,” Harry mumbles to his tea.

Severus sighs, then decides he’s not going to drag it out of the boy. “You may help me compose a letter to Minerva,” he says instead.

“Alright,” Harry says, finally looking at him again. Severus summons a quill, ink, and some parchment, and starts to write.

“Do I tell her you’ll be my apprentice?” he asks, when he’s written the _Dear Minerva, I hope this finds you well. I write to inform you I wish to return to my duties at Hogwarts come September._

Harry is quiet, and when Severus glares at him to get him to answer, he looks stunned. “What?”

“I thought I was to be your assistant so I could qualify for an apprenticeship next year.”

“You don’t want to be my apprentice, I understand,” Severus says, turning back to the parchment, to keep writing. The rejection leaves his stomach feeling hollow, but he knows to take what he can get. He feels a hand settle on his forearm.

“I didn’t think I could be,” Harry clarifies. “I want to, it was always my intention to ask you. You’d take me without knowing if I can do the research and develop new potions?”

“Well,” Severus starts, feeling very uncomfortable with the conversation, and stupidly comfortable with the hand that is still resting on his arm. “We have been talking about potions almost every Friday for a year, I’m confident in your understanding and ability. Besides, if you were to write down your observations about shredding instead of slicing daisy roots, you could probably publish that.”

Harry is beaming at him; his eyes still look red, but his body language is as it should be, excited and eager. “Thank you.” He squeezes Severus’ arm briefly as he says it. “Have you had apprentices before?”

“Just once, she finished the year before you came to Hogwarts. We can talk through the contract and specifics later, for now I just need to let Minerva know in what capacity you’ll be joining me.”

“Apprentice, please.” Harry smiles at him. He munches on disgusting biscuits happily until Severus signs the letter, calls his owl, and sends it off. 

“Why’d you name her that?” Harry asks, lounging comfortably in his chair.

“Nyctimene?” Harry nods.

“She was a present from Minerva. There’s a myth that the goddess Minerva turned a girl called Nyctimene into an owl.”

“As punishment?”

“Out of pity. Nyctimene had been raped by her father and was hiding in the forest, refusing to show her face except for at night.”

Harry nods thoughtfully. He fidgets and stares at his hands, then his face falls again. He looks so sad that Severus wants to distract him

“Will you stay for dinner?”

“Oh I don’t want to impose,” Harry replies.

“Potter,” he sighs, “do us both a favour and assume I won’t offer unless I want to.” His tone is sharp, but Harry seems to be immune by now.

“Harry,” Harry smiles, “please call me Harry. I’d love to stay for dinner; what were you thinking of having?”

Severus nods and smiles, before remembering he still didn’t know if it made him look like a predator. “You brought an absurd amount of groceries yesterday, I was planning on cooking with that.”

Harry blushes again. “I’m used to doing groceries for more people, since I live with...” he trails off. 

“Ah the Weasleys and consorts, of course you would be used to larger households.”

Harry nods and hums. He starts picking at his nails.

“Will you tell me what happened?” Severus asks, feeling worried for the boy again.

“That obvious, am I,” Harry smiles sadly.

“Indeed,” Severus drawls. “Out with it.”

“When I got home last night Ron was still awake, and I was a little tipsy,” Harry starts, standing up to pace.

“You were more than a little tipsy when you left here,” Severus says, “I shouldn’t have let you Apparate.”

“I walked around a bit before Apparating, to clear my head.” 

Severus nods; that was smart of him.

“Ron asked where I’d been, so I told him,” Harry continues, still pacing.

“Did I not say out with it?” Severus snaps. Harry looks at him, squinting a little.

“I promise I won’t yell at you,” Severus sighs. It’s not as though he could yell right now, anyway.

“He said some very rude things about you,” Harry bursts out, his hands flapping about. He paces faster. “And I told him not to, and then he called you names, and so I told him I was going to be working with you, and then he said...” Harry is running out of breath, “and then I told him! He said you’d use me!”

He’s panting now, and Severus points at the sofa. Harry sits.

“Since you came here to tell me you hadn’t changed your mind, I’ll assume you didn’t believe I’d use you.”

“Hermione said she’ll talk to him.”

“When did you talk to her?”

“This morning,” Harry sighs miserably, pulling his legs up and wrapping his arms around. He looks small and fragile tucked into the corner of the sofa. It’s all wrong, he’s supposed to take up space and make loads of noise.

“And she was on your side?” Harry nods, then rests his head on his knees again. Harry whispers something, so Severus heaves himself up out of the armchair, and walks to the sofa, where he gingerly sits down next to Harry.

“Say that again, please.”

“He called you a shirt lifter,” Harry whispers. “Said you’d only want me for an assistant because of sex. I promise I didn’t tell him anything about you, so I don’t even know where he got the idea that you might be gay.”

Harry is struggling to control his breathing, so Severus takes long slow breaths for Harry to match his to.

“Can you just talk to me?” Harry wheezes. “Please?”

“The Mastery system,” Severus starts, grabbing onto the first topic he can think of, “where a master takes on an apprentice, has roots in the ancient Greek system of pederasty, which linked a teenager to an older man because of politics, social class, education. There was usually sex involved then, though it is uncommon these days. One of the books I gave you is about Wizarding rituals and customs and their origins,” Severus tries to keep his voice low and calm. He doesn’t know how to soothe, but rationally thinking through issues has always helped him. The Weasleys might not be wealthy, but they know their traditions. It’s not such a leap for the boy that has always assumed the worst of him to think such. 

“My reasons for taking you on as an apprentice are simpler than all that, Harry. You wish to learn about Potions, I like teaching you about them. You know my limits and flaws better than anyone, and you can help me. I cannot think of anyone else I would be willing to share my space and time with.” It seems to be working, Harry is looking at him intently, and his breathing has calmed down.

“I don’t think you’ve ever talked that much in one go to me.” Harry smiles at him now. He looks warm, and comfortable, and Severus feels a strange urge to wrap his arms around the boy. He leans back instead.

“Talking doesn’t hurt like it used to.”

Harry hums, “I’d kill Nagini painfully if she wasn’t dead already.”

Severus chuckles. “You’d have to fight me for the honour.”

“Hermione says she’ll get Ron to see sense, and that she’ll keep him away from the house until he does.”

“You haven’t told me what he’s done yet,” Severus reminds Harry.

“He insulted you, that would have been enough. But then I told him I’m gay.” Harry looks at Severus, and his eyes fill with tears. He quickly looks away. Severus finally understands. How could he not? He’s been here more times than he cares to remember. Thinking someone is close enough to you that they should probably know, being reminded of the limits of empathy. He doesn’t know what to say and startles when Harry lets his head drop onto Severus’ shoulder. Before Harry can sit back up, he lets his own head sink down, too. Leaning on each other just a little, they sit quietly.

Severus goes through five different versions of how to phrase what he wants to say before settling on: “I don’t want to pry, but if you should like to talk about it, I’m here.”

“That’s sweet of you, Severus,” Harry says, “but I might cry and I don’t want to bother you.”

“I will refer to what I said earlier about things I offer.”

“I knew this would happen,” Harry says, after a moment of thinking. “He always responds like this to unexpected information. I had planned to tell Hermione first, maybe get Ginny in on it too, then tell him over tea. But then I wanted him to stop saying things about you, so I figured I should let him know why I was offended, and of course it was two in the morning and both of us weren’t entirely sober.”

It’s quiet as they both think. Harry’s hair tickles Severus face, but he wouldn’t move for all the gold in the world. Harry starts wheezing a little again.

“When I told your mum, we were 13, maybe 14,” Severus says. Maybe it will help Harry to know his parents would have been supportive. “She was so excited. We spent ages sending back and forth notes about what teacher was the hottest, which prefect had the nicest hair, who else we thought might be gay. She wanted to be a lawyer then, and she told me that the first law she would create would be one to allow gay people to get married. We didn’t really understand how laws worked yet.”

Harry is quiet, which makes Severus nervous. “Should I not have said that?”

“No,” Harry reassures him, “I know nothing about her, I love hearing anything, but this really helps.”

“When Lupin and Black were punished for kissing in the corridor, your father took his complaint about the points that were taken from them all the way to the board. He said that teachers shouldn’t take more points for them being two boys, that Lily and he would’ve gotten away with a warning.”

Harry sniffles and shuffles closer. “What about your parents?”

“That’s not a happy story, Harry,” Severus sighs.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but I’d like to know.”

“My mother always knew, I think. My father found out the summer between my fifth and sixth year; I ended up having to go to back to Hogwarts early. I never saw him again and spent the next summer at the Malfoys’. I didn’t see my mother until after he died and neither of us ever brought it up.” It’s not easy to talk of these things, but Severus feels a strange urge to give Harry anything he asks for. He feels the tugging in his stomach again, wants to hold the boy close, never let anyone get near enough to hurt him again.

“Shame she’s dead now,” Harry muses, then buries his face in his hands as Severus snorts. “I mean I’d like to have met her, to see if I really met her, if she remembered me, to see what changed, what happened to her.”

“I happened,” Severus whispers. “She got pregnant right after graduation, my father had to work at the mill to keep up with bills and lost interest in writing. She hadn’t told him she was a witch by the time I started doing accidental magic, and he was constantly afraid we would do something magical to him. I made him poor and unsuccessful and afraid, and he took it out on her.”

To his surprise, Harry sets a hand on his thigh and looks at him. His expression is so earnest and sincere that Severus doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “He chose not to be proud of you,” he says.

“What do you mean?” Severus croaks. 

“Hermione pointed out to me a while ago that the Dursleys could’ve been proud of me instead. I was theirs and they had every right to be proud of me doing well in school, of me being a fast runner, of me being a good cook. Of me being good at Defence, and Quidditch, and throwing myself into danger.”

Severus nods. The Granger girl is right again. Tiresome.

“Let’s cook,” he suggests. The sense of loss when Harry takes back his hand and sits up straight makes him want to take his words back, wrap his arms around Harry, bury his face in Harry’s neck and cry for a day or two. Instead he stands and walks to the kitchen. Harry gets there before him and is already rummaging through the fridge.

“Shepherd’s pie?” Harry suggests.

“I was thinking of a stew: there’s the bread, the leftover lamb, and I have the veggies and some canned tomatoes.”

Harry stands up and looks at him. “Do you have fresh mint and coriander? I saw chickpeas yesterday.”

“Good idea.” Severus nods, and together they set out the ingredients. It’s nice to cook with someone who knows his kitchen and what he’s doing, Severus muses. Soon, the kitchen smells even better, and Harry is happily chatting as he stirs the bell pepper into the stew while Severus cuts the bread. He swishes his wand to set the table while Harry serves them both bowls of steaming stew, and they sit down with a glass of wine each.

After dinner, Severus sits back down on the sofa, while trying not to think about his reasons to do so, and Harry joins him there. They chat over the rest of the wine, until Severus realizes it’s nine.

“Harry, won’t you be missed?”

“Are you kicking me out?” Harry asks, but his tone is teasing.

“Not at all, I’m simply wondering if your friends won’t be worried for you by now.”

“I told George I was coming here.” Harry waves his hand as if to push the thought away. “And stop changing the topic, I really was wondering what use you had for the daffodil invasion of this spring.”

“Daffodils aren’t too useful in potions; they can be used instead of mandrakes but are much less potent, so almost no one does.”

“So why did you have them?”

“I like them,” Severus admits. Harry laughs, putting his hand on Severus’ thigh again. 

“Are you laughing at me?” Severus frowns. “Is it really so hard to believe?”

“No, it isn’t,” Harry sighs. “And I’m not. I love daffodils too, they’re so brave and fierce. Did you know they symbolize rebirth?”

“And hope, and forgiveness.” Severus adds, nodding. Then he quotes: “And then my heart with pleasure fills// And dances with the daffodils.” 

“See!” Harry sits up and looks at him. “This is what I mean, you’re so well read. How do you know this one?”

Severus laughs softly and whips his wand around to have a big book called _The Collected Poems of William Wordsworth_ fly over.

“Oh,” Harry sighs, gently petting the book.

“It’s also a rather well-known poem. Do you do that to all books,” Severus asks mildly, “or is it a left-over reflex from that monstrous book Hagrid made you buy?”

Harry glares at him a little. “I just like books.”

Severus gestures around. “You’re welcome to them.” To his surprise, he means it.

Harry smiles widely, leaning back into the sofa, and clutches the poetry book to his chest. 

“Though if you’re new to poetry, I’d recommend starting elsewhere, Wordsworth is a little...”

“Wordy?” Harry finishes for him, grinning at his own joke as he sets the book down on the side table.

Severus groans, and takes a sip of his wine to hide that he’s smiling.

“Why do you do that?” Harry asks, draining his own glass.

“Do what?” Severus drawls, as he pulls up his legs to sit cross-legged.

“Hide your smile, stop yourself from laughing.”

“I’m not going to answer that.”

Harry looks at him strangely. “Alright, that’s your right. I think you shouldn’t.”

“What?”

“Hide. It’s nice when you smile and laugh. It looks good on you, it sounds nice when you laugh, and it’s good to laugh with friends.”

“We’re friends now?” Severus sneers; he hopes Harry hasn’t figured out yet that it’s self-defence. 

“Arch enemies don’t visit each other every week or spend a whole weekend together and they definitely don’t work or live together, Snape, I thought you’d know that,” Harry laughs.

“Severus.”

“Severus.” Harry nods and smiles. “It almost sounds like Parseltongue, why’d your parents call you Severus?”

“Catholics, there’s some saints.”

“Wish I knew why I’m called Harry.”

“Your grandfather, Harry Evans. How did this never come up before?”

Harry leans back into the sofa. “I didn’t actually know my name before primary school.”

Severus shakes his head: bloody Petunia. “Do you still speak Parseltongue?”

Harry nods. “Seems I spoke it enough for my brain to hang onto it or something. I also still remember everything that happened during the visions and stuff.”

“Or something, and stuff? No more wine for you.” Severus grins.

Harry laughs and uses his shoulder to gently shove Severus. “Not everyone can be a genius, you know.”

“I’m well aware,” Severus huffs. “It’s my burden to bear.”

They both laugh, Harry sinks his head down on Severus’ shoulder again and Severus is proud of himself for not freezing.

“I can’t believe Remus and Sirius used to date,” Harry sighs finally.

“They broke up in seventh year as far as I know, I suppose that by the time you met them it was ancient history, even for Black.”

Harry hums. “Did you finish the crumble?”

“I haven’t touched it, feel free to get it for us.”

Harry bounces into the kitchen and bangs pots together. Or maybe he’s smashing plates. When he comes back with two steaming bowls of crumble, Severus decides not to ask. Some mysteries should remain unsolved. They quietly enjoy the crumble, sitting next to each other in mirrored cross-legged positions. 

“Why do you write with your right hand?” Harry asks out of the blue.

“Pardon?”

“You’re left handed, but you write with your right hand. Why?”

“Catholics.” Severus shrugs, and keeps eating. He wonders briefly what made Harry ask, but decides he’d rather know more about where he’ll be going back to.

“What is the plan you made with Granger?”

“She’d take him to the Burrow and talk to him there, they’d both spend the night and we’ll talk tomorrow. She’s allowed to tell the Weasleys what happened, but only if it comes up.”

“So ideally, they’ll come back tomorrow morning and Weasley will apologize and no one but the three of you knows.”

Harry nods, and licks his spoon. Severus considers telling him etiquette frowns upon licking utensils, then decides he’d rather enjoy it while it lasts.

“Do you think that’s realistic?”

“I’m really not sure, why do you ask?”

Severus thinks for a moment. Why does he care? “I don’t want you to have to live somewhere people don’t respect you, I suppose.”

Harry stares at him, his mouth hanging open a little. Then he sinks back into the sofa and leans his head on Severus’ shoulder again.

“Do you have anything you want to harvest tonight?”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s a full moon, I’m offering to help.”

“Oh.” Severus thinks for a moment. He hasn’t really been able to harvest much, and most of the ingredients that care about the moon phase are only useful in potions he can’t brew right now.

“My nightshade is blossoming, but it will only take a minute to pick the flowers and put them in a jar.”

Harry nods and Severus can feel his shoulders slumping a little. “Did you want to go for a walk?” 

Harry freezes, then nods again. “I saw the river when I walked around last night, it was nice.”

“Get your coat then,” Severus shocks himself by saying and the bright grin on Harry’s face convinces him it was the right thing to say. He gets up slowly, summons a pain potion, drains it, and follows Harry to the door.

“Are you hurting?” Harry asks, his brow furrowed.

“It’s preventative,” Severus assures him, putting on his Muggle coat. Twilight is just beginning as they step out of the house. They walk together in the direction of the river. The houses all around are quiet, the streets echo with their footsteps. Spinner’s End always feels a little dystopian, too desolate. 

Severus steers them through narrow alleyways on the most direct way to the river. He pauses when they get to the turn to Lily’s house.

“Would you like to see?”

“Mum’s house?”

Severus nods, Harry looks up at him, his eyes bright. “Yes please.”

They walk quietly across the little park, into the neighbourhood Lily grew up in. Children are playing outside here, families are having dinner in the gardens. There’s chatter and light.

“I can see why you liked coming here,” Harry says softly. Severus only nods; it feels strangely personal to be showing him this. Some of the houses have the wrong colour, the sidewalk is broader now. The trees are taller, and some are gone. In front of a cheerful brick house with a wild garden, they stop. A lady is watering the plants in the backyard. They stare at the house together for too long and the lady makes her way over.

“Hello,” she greets them; she’s happy and looks completely carefree, wearing an apron and carrying a metal watering can. “Are you looking to buy in the neighbourhood?”

“Ah no,” Harry says, before Severus can stop him, “my mum used to live here.”

Her kind eyes lighten up. “Lily or Petunia?”

“Lily,” Harry tells her, smiling. The lady starts blabbing on about the Evans family, what lovely people they were, how she and her husband bought it when the kids were young. 

“Why don’t you come ‘round back for tea, I’ve just put on the kettle,” she asks, as Severus starts to feel his muscles protesting against standing still. Harry looks at him for permission, so the lady looks at him too. They both seem to really want to and much as he wants to say no, I’m tired, I don’t like new people, he finds himself nodding.

She herds them through the garden to the back of the house, where a little table stands amongst waving flowers. “I suppose it’s rather not done to invite you over at this time, but it’s still light out isn’t it,” the lady, ‘call me Emmy’, says cheerfully as she goes to make tea.

“Hope you like chamomile,” she smiles, setting the pot and three cups down. “Home-grown?” Severus asks, and he finds himself drawn into a conversation about drying flowers for tea. Harry seems content to lean back and admire the garden. When they finish their tea, Emmy hands them a paper bag full of baked goods and makes them promise to pop by for tea again soon.

Standing on the sidewalk again, Harry grins at Severus. “It’s too late now for the river, isn’t it?”

“Rather,” Severus admits. “I’m glad for the potion I took before, I’m not used to walking and standing this much.”

Harry offers his arm with a grin, and Severus surprises them both by taking it. They take the long way back, staying on the even sidewalks instead of walking through the park. The night is setting in now, the streetlights are on, and the world feels as if it’s just _theirs._ Despite the long days, it’s not really summer yet, so the air is chilly, but it smells of flowers and wood fires and life. They walk past a large honeysuckle and Harry breathes in deep, turns to face Severus, and smiles. So happy, so bright. Severus stops walking with the enormousness of it.

“Are you alright?” Harry asks, his face clouding over.

Severus nods and they keep walking. A breeze from around two buildings whips his hair around and he apologizes as he picks it off of Harry’s face.

“Don’t worry,” Harry smiles easily, “your hair smells nice.”

Severus checks to see if he’s being mocked, decides he isn’t, and nods. “I make the shampoo myself, it’s rosemary.”

“Is that what the murky jar in the cupboard is for?”

Severus can’t help but laugh. “It is, I extract the essence from the rosemary I grow.”

Harry nods again, and they walk, slower now, as if to extend this quiet solitude, the privacy of being out at night. “Your hair is nicer now, you should’ve grown it out ages ago.”

“I’ll cut it before Hogwarts; at this length I have to tie it back when I work.”

“Why don’t you tie it back in class?”

Severus looks at him, his sneer mocking. 

“What? What am I missing?”

“I look ridiculous with my hair tied back, Potter. I may not mind looking ridiculous in my own home, but I will not be laughed at in my class.”

Harry stops and frowns at him. “Harry. I’m Harry. I will bet you money you look fine with your hair tied back, showing off those cheekbones.”

He looks sincere enough that even Severus can’t think he’s being made fun of, so he goes the other way. His tone is cold as he drawls: “Are you flirting with me, little Potter?”

It’s a bizarre thought, but Harry pulling back his arm, stepping away and covering his face is a bit of an overreaction, Severus thinks, as he leans on the brick wall that’s next to them instead.

“Gods, I’m so sorry,” Harry starts mumbling. Then he seems to notice how Severus is starting to shiver; he’s been out for too long, it’s late, and his legs won’t carry him home like this. Severus says a silent prayer that Harry won’t abandon him here, not like this, not when he needs help walking. 

“Let me help you,” Harry begs, still flushed with embarrassment. He won’t look at Severus, and scowling with the indignity of it, Severus agrees. He hates this vulnerability, he hates not understanding what causes Harry to act like this. But he’s still shaking so he doesn’t stop Harry taking Severus’ arm, wrapping it around his shoulder, and slinging his own arm around Severus’ waist. Neither of them talks as they walk the last 200 meters or so back to the house. Harry helps him out of his coat, sets him down on the sofa, and fetches him tea and something for the pain. They don’t talk while Severus drains his pain potion and clutches his tea to get his cold fingers warmed up. Harry stands in front of him, shifting his weight from one leg to the other.

“Sit,” Severus orders, pointing at the other side of the sofa. Harry sits down all the way to the end, pulling up his legs to make himself as small and huddled up as possible. He looks miserable again.

“Thank you for helping me get home safe,” Severus says, keeping his voice steady with some effort. He has no practice with this. “I apologize for making you uncomfortable with my earlier comment, I would say that it wasn’t my intention but it was. I did not anticipate just how much it would unsettle you, and for that I am sorry.”

“Severus,” Harry whines, drawing out the sounds of his name. His shoulders are hunched and his eyes are flitting across the room, never settling on anything. “I was flirting with you, and I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have, you’d never be interested in me, I know that. I’m content spending time together and working together, I promise.”

He takes a deep breath. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable with your comment, I made you uncomfortable with the flirting, and I’m so sorry.”

It’s been hours since the wine, Severus muses, so it can’t be that. It could be that he passed out in that alley, that he’s dreaming or hallucinating. A quick check of the titles of the books around him confirms that he can read. Not a dream then. Too Slytherin to waste a perfectly good opening, the one chance he’s likely to ever get, he shuffles closer to Harry with some effort and settles a hand on Harry’s forearm.

“I absolutely would be, but I really cannot right now. I am too weak to make it upstairs. I cannot court you like this and believe me when I tell you I do not do halfway, or casual, or fleeting.” He can hear the truth in his words, and wonders if Harry can hear it too.

Harry looks confused and worried and happy and a million other unreadable things, then stands up, holding Severus’ hand.

“Let me help you upstairs. Let me stay the night, I promise we’ll sleep.” Severus has to think about what that would mean, and Harry can see it.

“Please. What if this is all we get?”

It’s what Severus needed to hear, and Harry knows it. He lets Harry help him to his feet. Lets him deal with the dishes and the lights and the fire with some lazy flicks of his wand. He lets Harry help him up the stairs, even though it takes ages and has him panting and angry and embarrassed. He throws Harry a nightshirt and locks himself in the bathroom to change and brush his teeth. While he’s brushing his hair, he tries smiling at the mirror. He suspects it might be worse than it would be otherwise because he’s frustrated and exhausted, but at least he doesn’t look like he eats small children for breakfast. It’ll have to do. When he steps out, he hands Harry a toothbrush, still in the plastic. Desperate to stay awake while he waits for Harry in bed, he stews in feeling helpless and frail and irritated. All of it disappears when the door to his bedroom opens, and Harry stands there. The nightshirt is too long on him, brushing the floor, it makes him look so small. Severus shuffles over to make space. He opens the duvet and lets the boy slide in and wraps his arms around him unthinkingly. Lips ghosting over his mutter things like, _sleep tight,_ and _sweet dreams,_ and hissed noises that sound like his name lull him to sleep.

Severus wakes up twice in the middle of the night thinking he’s somehow managed to get buried under either a very large, very shaggy dog or one of those electric blankets that he’s seen advertisements for. Both times it takes Harry nuzzling closer for him to realize what is actually happening and both times the realization fills him with such warmth that he has to apply cooling charms. He’s been cold for years.

The third time he wakes up it’s light outside. The curtains keep the room relatively dark, and judging by the angle of the sun, it’s early still. Harry is still out cold and curls up in a tight little ball as soon as Severus moves a little. Without thinking, he wraps his arms around Harry, kisses his hair, strokes his back. His muscles hurt from the abuse of the day before, but he feels well-rested, so he lies awake luxuriating in the smell of sleepy Harry. He thinks of lingering looks, blushing cheeks, the fascination with his hands. _When did this happen?_

“Why’d you make your own soap?” Harry mumbles sleepily sometime later. It’s not what Severus expected at all, so he allows himself a chuckle.

“I ran out of Hogwarts soap. I’ve smelled of juniper and mint since I was eleven, and I wanted to try something else.”

Harry hums, clearly not all the way awake yet. “You smell fantastic,” he sighs. Sleepy enough not to be self-conscious then, that could be useful.

“How are you this morning?” Severus asks in response, not stilling the motions of his hand, which is still running up and down Harry’s back. 

“Sleepy,” Harry mumbles. “And warm.”

“Tell me what happened yesterday in the alley,” Severus whispers. He hopes the question won’t shock Harry into waking up all the way. It works.

“Was flirting with you,” Harry mumbles, drawing his knees closer to his chest as he sighs in obvious pleasure at having his back stroked. “Got caught.”

Severus is still baffled by it, but hasn’t wasted a good opportunity in ages, and really isn’t about to start. 

“Are you cold?” Harry asks, placing a hand on Severus’ waist. “You feel cold.”

Severus kisses his forehead gently, wanting to keep Harry in this half-sleep for as long as he can. “I’m warm actually, what you’re feeling is a cooling charm. I’m not used to sleeping in a nightgown, with blankets, and another person keeping me warm.”

That causes Harry’s eyes to fly open. “You sleep naked normally?”

Severus nods, amused at the look on Harry’s face. Fascination maybe, or perhaps even desire. 

“Makes sense,” Harry mumbles, and he buries his face against Severus’ shoulder. Their legs tangle together. Severus waits for a few breaths before asking: “Why does that make sense?”

“Just the way you carry yourself,” Harry explains, his voice muffled. “Like your clothes are lucky to be allowed to touch you.”

Harry shuffles closer still and looks at Severus. It means he turns onto his back more and Severus ends up petting his sides instead of his back. He has nothing to say about his clothes, so he says nothing at all. 

“Why me, Severus?” Harry asks, sounding more awake. Severus thinks on it for a moment.

“It’s always been you, I think,” he starts, “I’ve wanted to protect you as long as I’ve known of you. I’ve liked your intelligence and drive as long as I’ve known you. I’ve appreciated your sense of humour for a while now, and ever since I saw you jump into a frozen lake, I’ve been attracted to you.”

“Not that you’d admit it,” Harry says, but he’s grinning at Severus, so Severus dares to smile back. It’s a tight-lipped and small smile, but it’s real, and he knows Harry can tell when Harry’s face lights up. “I can’t say the same. The only thing consistent throughout the time I’ve known you is that you intimidate me.”

Severus lets his lips quirk again. “Good.” It makes Harry laugh, which is _wonderful._ When Harry speaks again, his tone is serious but fond. “I’ve wanted you on some level since the beginning of sixth year, though. I carried your book everywhere, read it as often as I could, speculated on who you might be, what you might be like. It drove Ron and Hermione up the wall. Sectumsempra and finding out it was you I’d been obsessing about, again, felt like being betrayed by a close friend. But then I saw you at the shack, and I saw your memories and I saw you at St Mungo’s, and I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

They’re both quiet for a bit, then Harry adds: “Still haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.” 

Severus muses for a moment on how that’s the closest anyone has come to telling him they like him or find him attractive in a very long time, then realizes that he’s still touching Harry. Harry’s stomach flutters when he grabs his hipbone, and Severus blames being out of practice on not having noticed what was happening. Harry’s cheeks are a beautiful pink, his breathing is just a touch fast. When Severus grabs Harry’s hipbone tighter and whispers, “May I?” in Harry’s ear, he’s rewarded with a soft whine, an unconscious roll of hips, and then a breathless, “Yesss.”

Slowly trailing his fingers up from where the borrowed nightshirt has bunched around Harry’s knees, Severus pushes it up as far as it will go. He touches Harry’s thighs, runs his fingers up and down the insides, places a flat hand on a fluttering stomach. Then, with just his index finger, he trails the curve of Harry’s balls. Immediately, the skin shifts and contracts. _Marvellous._ He gently drags his finger up, sliding from root to tip, then keeps up these soft touches as he sits up. 

“You said something about courting yesterday.” 

Severus hums, “That I did.”

“I’ve been reading the books you’re letting me borrow,” Harry groans.

“What are you trying to tell me?” Severus keeps his tone light but doesn’t let up on touching Harry.

“I’d like to be courted,” Harry confesses, looking at the ceiling. His cheeks flush as he says it. 

“With the public declare of intent?” Severus asks. Harry nods. “And the courting gifts? Introductions to the family?”

Harry is clearly flustered, but still nodding. “Negotiations of the bonding contract?” Severus teases. Harry groans and covers his face with his hands, which makes Severus laugh.

“If you’d like to be traditional,” Severus says, stilling his hands, “should I stop doing what I’m doing now?”

“No!” Harry’s eyes snap to find his. “Don’t stop. Please. Unless you want to.”

Severus laughs again, letting long fingers dance over Harry’s sensitive skin. “Ah but,” he muses, “what if this is all we get?” 

Moaning deeply in agreement, Harry lets his eyes fall closed. He looks splendid, squirming and moving, seeking friction and attention. His lower legs are covered by the duvet, his upper body by the nightshirt. His skin is soft and warm under Severus’ hand. When Severus uses his nails to trace four tracks up Harry’s thigh, they show white, then pink. Harry lets out a broken sound.

“Show me what you do,” Severus says, his voice a little hoarse. Harry’s eyes focus on him. “Touch yourself,” Severus urges. He’s certain he won’t be able to keep any kind of pace, any kind of pressure, for long enough. But he can do this and watch Harry. Touch him as he comes. Harry whines eagerly, then does as he was told.

“Good boy,” Severus praises, using his right hand to stroke Harry’s hair, carding his fingertips through the mess, as his left hand rests on Harry’s thigh. He enjoys the feeling of muscles flexing under his palm and loves how Harry leans into his touch. Harry licks his lips, and Severus touches the index and middle finger of his left hand to his chin. Harry immediately latches on to them, sucking eagerly. It looks wanton and Severus is overwhelmed by all the things he wants to do with Harry. To Harry.

He shifts them both on the bed until he’s sitting between Harry’s legs. Harry’s knees are up, his feet on the mattress, and Severus uses one finger to lift heavy balls out of the way. Harry stares at him, his hand stopped moving. “May I?” Severus asks again, knowing his voice is giving him away. Harry nods, but Severus waits until he adds another hissed, “Yes.” He rests the top of his wet index finger to Harry’s arse, and is immediately rewarded. Harry’s head falls back his hips buck up, his fist clenches. He starts moving his hand again as he pants and moans. Trying not to let on how delighted he is by Harry’s responsiveness, how erotic he finds this enthusiasm, Severus focuses on the show. He gently bites the skin of Harry’s thigh, just above his knee, and pushes his finger in up to the first knuckle. Harry comes instantly, groaning and bucking, pushing his feet into the mattress.

Severus grabs Harry’s hips, and kisses him where he can reach. He licks at the come on Harry’s stomach, gently sucks on his balls, and looks up when Harry makes a noise of surprise.

“Too sensitive?” he asks, sitting back up.

“No,” Harry shakes his head, his voice full of wonder, “you’re still touching me.”

Severus chuckles, “Indeed I am.”

“But I’m all...” Harry gestures at himself, brow creased in confusion even as the rest of him lies boneless among tangled sheets and nightgown. 

“If you think I will only want you naked and in my arms while you’re hard,” Severus says, kissing his way back up the inside of Harry’s thigh, “you’ve got another think coming.”

“Oh,” Harry mutters, then pushes himself up so he’s leaning on his elbows. His eyes are shining. “Would you let me give you a blowjob?” he asks excitedly. Severus laughs as he places his hands next to Harry on the bed, kissing his way up to his mouth.

“Of course,” he whispers against Harry’s lips. 

“You’re laughing and smiling,” Harry whispers back, eyes shining happily. 

“I think,” Severus tells him, as if he’s sharing a great secret, “I might be starting to trust you.”

His warnings about old, scarred, skinny, are ignored as he’s pushed onto his back. They’re forgotten as Harry proves just how eager and enthusiastic he is.

They both fall asleep again after Severus comes, but it doesn’t take long before a full bladder wakes him up. He untangles himself carefully from arms and legs, slides out of bed, and decides it’s time for a shower. When he gets back to the bedroom, hair still wet, Harry is sleeping sprawled out on his stomach. He trails a finger across Harry’s spine, which wakes him up, then goes to get dressed. Monday. Time for groceries. Harry stares at him as he puts on pants and trousers, a crisp shirt, a dark blue jumper. He sits on the edge of the bed to put on socks, and Harry wraps himself around Severus’ waist.

“It’s time to wake up,” he says softly.

“I know, but I’m warm,” Harry whines. Severus turns around and pets the boy’s hair, pushing it away from his face.

“I’ll make you pancakes. Have a shower and join me downstairs. You’ll have to face your friends eventually.”

Harry bounces downstairs just as Severus finishes making the batter. He starts making tea as if they’ve lived together for years, and as they’re facing each other over plates of pancakes and the kitchen table, he sighs.

“If I’d known telling you about meeting your mum would’ve led to all this,” Harry makes a vague hand gesture, “I would’ve done so ages ago.”

“I think this,” Severus makes the same gesture, smiling into his tea, “started a while before that.”

**Author's Note:**

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